


Usta

by orphan_account



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Crack, Language Barrier, M/M, Wal-Mart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-10
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2018-01-15 05:48:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1293598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Merlin works at Wal-Mart, Arthur is Polish, and Mithian is the worst wingman ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Usta

**Author's Note:**

> This is what you get when I write stories while on pain meds. It's pretty much just pure crack that probably doesn't make a lick of sense, and I'll regret posting it by morning. For now I apologize on behalf of me and myself and my addled brain. The prompt comes as a gift for one of my American cousins based on her ramblings (and rantings) of working while the World Youth Biathlon was happening in her hometown.
> 
>  
> 
> Of course, if I were really the best cousin ever, I would have written this as Merlin/Mithian instead of just a friendship, but I have never claimed to be perfect. Clearly.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, I apologize to all of Poland on behalf of any offense I may cause. I know absolutely nothing about you, and you are just the unfortunate victims of me watching too much VeggieTales. However that thing about Sweden is a true story, there are pictures.

Merlin had to work the fitting room again. Great.

 

It wasn’t that he didn’t like his job. Okay, fine, it wasn’t the most intellectually stimulating thing he could do with his life, and it left him bone-tired at the end of the day, but still, it paid, and he wasn’t haunted each night by reprocessed “chicken” like some of his friends. It was just that being in the fitting room was the bane of Apparel department tasks.

 

Being assigned to the fitting room meant he had to answer the phone (why every store phone call ran through Apparel when not one call was _for_ them was beyond him), pick up the discarded clothes that idiot customers left in the stalls (was putting those shirts back on their hangers really so taxing for you?), and worst of all, straightening up the “accessories” sub-department.

 

In other words, the ladies’... ahem, “personal garments.”

 

It wasn’t like Merlin had any particular interest in those particular garments –in fact, he could care less about them. The problem was, as always, the customers. Especially the mothers. They would always come by and either look at him as if he were a pervert or ask his opinion as if he were some kind of expert, usually while their daughters stood as far away as possible trying to pretend they were in no way associated with the crazy woman accosting the probably not an expert/pervert.

 

Then there were the young men, who treated him as if he were a pervert expert, haranguing him with questions and ribbing him about how “lucky” he was to be working so close to the “danger zone.”

 

His only reprieve was the rare moment when there was nothing to do, and he simply got to lounge around at the fitting room desk. He coveted those moments more even than his lunch hour.

 

He was enjoying just such a moment when the large groups of young adults started flooding the store that day in waves. Merlin groaned and prayed the clock would tick faster to his break. When a group of them start hanging around the aisles next to him and sneaking peeks over at his desk while muttering amoungst themselves, he prayed harder.

 

“Merlin!” Mithian, Merlin’s favourite of his co-workers by sheer virtue of her being the only other one under the age of forty, came bounding over. “The Polish guys are totally checking you out!”

 

Merlin raised an eyebrow. “Polish? Since when do we get Polish customers?” It wasn’t rare that they had foreign customers. Being so close to the border, nearly half of the people who came in were Canadians. But Polish? “How would you even know?” Merlin glanced over and caught a drift of conversation in some kind of indiscriminate babble, but it was just as likely to be Klingon as Polish.

 

“Because they’ve got Polish flags on their jackets, silly. Haven’t you heard about the biathlon? The whole of Italy is over in the fabric department, and I just heard Gaius complaining there are Swedes attempting to race lobster in the aisles.”

 

“I thought the lobster tank was locked.”

 

“I guess someone must have forgot. But stop deflecting! I’m so jealous. The blond one is pretty cute.”

 

There were three blond ones, though since one was a woman and Mithian had never indicated she swung that way he guessed she meant one of the two men. Who were both rather attractive if Merlin had to admit it. Particularly the one with the gorgeous blue eyes and golden skin and now that he had shed the bulky ski jacket the most fit physique he’d ever seen. But not a single one of them was in any way “checking him out.”

 

“not deflecting, and you’re delusional. Besides, what does it matter? Do you speak Polish? Because I certainly don’t.”

 

“So? You’re supposed to be in customer services. How about you _serve_ the customer?” Mithian winked, her expression clear on the “services” she was suggesting he provide. Then before Merlin could protest, she had skipped her way over to the group.

 

Merlin watched out of the corner of his eye while she talked to them. Or rather, while she gesticulated extravagantly and the skiers just looked at her pityingly. Except for the blue-eyed one, who was absolutely not staring straight back at him.

 

Absolutely not.

 

He was, however, the one Mithian was taking by the arm and dragging over to Merlin and his desk. “Merlin, dear, Arthur would like to try this shirt on. Can you get him a room?”

 

Okay, Mithian was really going overboard now with the connotations, but Merlin couldn’t find it in him to reprimand her when he was so distracted by the fact he could no longer deny that Arthur –and what kind of Polish name was that? _Merlin_ sounded more foreign– was most definitely watching him now, a smirk on his face while he held out the shirt and asked “Mogę przymierzyć?”

 

Without waiting for a reply, Arthur walked past him into one of the stalls. Before he closed the door he quirked an eyebrow, grinning, and said “Chcesz pomóc?”

 

Merlin had no idea what it meant, but the tone made him blush all the way to his own personal garments. Receiving no other response, Arthur’s smile dropped a bit and he shut the door.

 

“Merlin! What are you doing? That was a clear invitation to tap that!”

 

Merlin groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “More likely he was asking how to report us to management.”

 

“You’re such a spoil sport. Honestly, how do you ever get a date when you’re convinced everyone finds you repulsive?”

 

“I only pick people who are as desperately hopeless as I am? Trust me, world-class, gorgeous sport stars? I don’t even rank.”

 

Mithian just pat him on the head in a gesture that was more patronizing than sympathetic. “You’ll never find out if you don’t try.”

 

“But I can’t even speak Polish! And he clearly doesn’t speak English.”

 

That wasn’t entirely true. He knew approximately three words in Polish thanks to some multi-cultural book his mother was obsessively reading to his little brother Will in hopes that he would be some super baby genius. But knowing the colour green was “zielony” was not exactly the best flirting material.

 

“You don’t have to marry the guy, Merlin. I’m sure a make-out session will suffice.”

 

Merlin was about to squak another protest when the stall behind him opened, and Arthur came out again.

 

He held out the shirt, regarding it confusedly. “Nie?”

 

“Oh, uh, yeah, I’ll take it, don’t worry about it.” He reached out to take the shirt and hanger, not even minding Arthur hadn’t hung it back up as their fingers brushed and Merlin went beet red again. He was pleased to note that Arthur did the same.

 

“Merlin is going on his lunch break now!” Mithian interrupted loudly. “How about you two go get a coffee? Or some chapstick?”

 

“Mithian!”

 

“Don’t worry, hon, I’ve got the desk. Have fun on your hour off!” With that she smashed their hands together and shoved them towards the exit.

 

The second they were out of her eyesight Merlin pulled his hand away. “I’m so sorry. She does things like that, and I find sometimes it’s just better to smile and nod, and I’m sorry that you got pulled into it, and you don’t have a clue what I’m saying, do you?”

 

Arthur smiled, crinkling his eyes in amusement, though he was obviously lost as to the direction of Merlin’s babbling. “Chapstick?”

 

If it was possible to die from embarrassment, Merlin was pretty sure he was doing so. He was going to suggest Mithian be assigned the clearence aisle tomorrow. “Yeah, um, it’s, you know, you put in on...” he recalled one of the words from his brother’s book, “usta!”

 

“Usta?”

 

“Yeah, like... these?” He pointed to his lips.

 

Arthur’s smile grew. “Usta,” he confirmed. He grabbed Merlin’s hand again and began pulling him outside, heedless of the fact that neither was wearing a coat and it was the middle of winter in northern Maine.

 

Merlin began shivering the moment they stepped outside, teeth clattering together. As Arthur pulled him around the side of the building with no explanation –not that Merlin could have understood one –he started babbling again just to fill the silence. “So, skiing? What’s that –”

 

Arthur crushed him against the wall with both body and lips and suddenly Merlin couldn’t even think about being cold with all the heat rushing through his skin. The Pole attacked his mouth –not unreciprocated –for several long minutes until they both had to come up for air.

 

Knees turned to jelly through some kind of unasked for transmutation, Merlin sagged against Arthur’s chest, sucking up his warmth now that he wasn’t so distracted from the falling snow. “That was... nice.”

 

Merlin’s heater rumbled with laughter. “Better use for usta, yes?”

 

His head snapped up in shock, nearly taking out Arthur’s nose. “ _You speak English_?”

 

Arthur smiled smugly. “Even ‘world-class, gorgeous sport stars’ need hobby. Also makes good for talking to hot American boys.”

 

“I am going to _kill_ you,” he muttered into his chest, mortified.

 

“Maybe wait for lunch to be done? I like you teach me more about _usta._ ”

 

Merlin wondered if he could request to be put on the fitting room more often.


End file.
